For the first time in my storied running career, I faced the downside of the low-rent, bare-bones trail ultramarathon scene when I “raced” the Sun Mtn 50k yesterday in Winthrop Washington. I technically finished 4th overall in 4:33 or so, though in my head I will consider it no worse than 2nd place in maybe 4:20-4:23. I spent almost all of the 1st half of the race running with the eventual winner, and I admit I felt good. I had no intention of leading the race or making any sort of move until maybe after mile 20ish, but his pace felt good for my pace and we covered the nice trails mostly together.

Then around the 10 mile mark we took a wrong turn. In our defense, there was no marker. We guessed going to the right…which was wrong. Went down a quarter mile only to figure we probably had to go back (after jogging in place for a bit, looking for a flag or sign of some sort), where we were reunited with what I figured were the 3rd and 4th place guys, approaching the very spot where we took the wrong turn. “Oh well,” I glumly thought to myself, sort of annoyed that we lost all that time we put on them but thems the breaks. Through the next couple miles we’d slowly resume putting time on 3rd and 4th again, only to have to stop a couple times to uncurl the lightweight paper signs that had warped and curled up in the rain in order to see which way to go. Each stop got them back with us. Then, roughly a tenth of a mile after the mile 14ish aid station, we come to the most stereotypical of forks in the road, like midway up the letter “Y”…with no sign pointing left or right. And…here’s the 3rd place guy back with us. He has a map but it’s not as helpful as we hope. He wisely yelled back at the aid station “WHICH WAY DO WE GO?!” Not surprisingly, they didn’t know. So we guessed going left. Luckily, we eventually find out we guessed correctly, but the minutes leading up to that revelation weren’t great fun.

My spirits were a little down but picked up slightly as we went through some admittedly very nice single track trails, the occasional nice view distracting me from other, less-than-optimistic thoughts.

Around mile 16 or 17 or hell I don’t know, we started a decent little climb up to Sun Mountain Lodge, towards the end of which I was surprised at how much we’d put on 3rd place. We got to the top though with about 20 options on directions to go and absolutely zero clues on which direction was the correct one. No signs, no flags, just two teenage girls who had no idea where we should go or why we were running up that trail to begin with. While we stood around with our fingers in our noses, trying to formulate yet another educated guess, here comes 3rd place again with his map, once again tied for the lead. The map proved not all that helpful, so we put it away and just jumped onto a trail that was going in the general direction the map seemed to be pointing. Around here I went into “eff this, long-training run from here on out” mode, mentally. Who the hell knew if we were on the right trail and if not, who was choosing the right trail and getting in front of us? Though it was sort of amusing to wonder just what *would* happen to all those behind us…and the many directions they could all choose to go. I pictured Patrick turning 13 shaes of purple at each direction-less fork in the road and laughed, whimsically.

We continued on for another couple miles, glancing at trails breaking off for any evidence we’re on the right track, eventually finding something promising that soon lead to the actual trail we were supposed to be on. At this point I had no idea if we’d cut the course or we’d added miles, and I was afraid of eating because my water bottle was getting low and I had no idea when the next aid station was coming. First place and I put some more distance on #3 and I was asked to take the lead for awhile. I agreed, but soon felt the early signs of bonking coming on. No longer feeling very competitive, I told him this and relinquished the lead, so he started to slowly pull away. I gave in and quickly ate a 3rd Gu and some Gu blocks while sucking down the rest of my fluid, crossing my fingers that the aid station was nearby. I quickly felt a little better and just tried to keep him in my sightline.

A mile or so later, I finally see the 3rd aid station and I spend more time than usual refilling and eating. As I’m leaving I see #3 arriving, probably 60 secs or so back. I start the ~5 mile loop up/around Patterson Mtn about the same distance back from #1. Soon though, within 1/4 mile, I see two guys I recognized from much earlier in the race apparently already finishing the loop! I hear one of them remark about me as they pass, “that guy was in 2nd place…”

If I hadn’t already given up by that point, I gave up here. Who knew how many more men/women were already on that loop? I was now in no better than 4th and possibly as worse as what…10th? 15th? Were those two the leaders? How did they get 30+ minutes ahead of us?! Did I add miles or did they cut? Or both? I tried to keep a cool head but mile-23-at-the-base-of-a-good-climb was among the absolute worst parts of the race to be facing these frustrating thoughts. I could see #1 in front of me for awhile, eventually seeing him with another runner, adding to my certitude that there were many people now in front of me. There was another arrowless fork in the road (I mindlessly went the way that went downhill over uphill) and soon I was on the descent back to the aid station, maybe on the right trail, maybe not, whatever. The guy who was in 3rd for most of the race (as far as I knew) passed me a couple miles later as we approached the aid station (mile 27) and I let him go.

I stubbornly decided to take a mini-vacation at that aid station. Brian Morrison was there with his bloody nipples, Patrick was there, oddly calm about all the missing arrows on the course, Katie was coming into the aid station during her first ultra. I grabbed some delicious jelly beans and casually got back on the course, ordering myself to simply enjoy the final 4ish miles for what it was: a nice jog on a nice day on some nice trails. A good 31-32 mile training run for White River was almost complete and soon I could sit in my decrepit car on the four hour drive back to Seattle.

After what feels about an hour later, I approach the finish line, once more not sure which way to go. I decide to head towards the overweight guy in the chair holding a clipboard. When in doubt, go to the clipboard. The packed house cheers mightily but I can’t muster much of a finish. Almost immediately I find myself ambling up to the guy I ran most of the race with. Turns out he won. I’m incredulous and ask how he caught those guys were had half an hour on us after the 3rd aid station.

“They accidentally cut the course,” he states. “Cut a LOT of it.”

Ahh…by the way, what place did I get?

“You got 4th,” he says.

Turns out the guy I saw in 4th way back at our very first detour around mile 10 came in 3rd overall. I don’t remember him passing us, so either we went long or he went short, or both. I’m quickly reminded how little I care about the details and start a new quest that hopefully ends with pizza & soda in my stomach.

All in all, it was what it was. I stayed in a pretty swanky cabin for two nights and hung with some cool people (and Patrick)…driving my car is never a barrel of laughs, especially not for 8 total hours, but the scenery was pretty spectacular at times, and a 31-32 mile run on the trails is rarely a bad thing. Sure, I came unglued a bit on the course when the “racing” part of the race seemed to be less than ideal, but, again, thems the breaks. In my head I’m confident that had the course been sufficiently marked, I would have been able to go head-to-head with the eventual winner and it would have come down to the final couple miles. I’ve definitely had worse weekends. And those jelly beans *were* mighty tasty.

A few more pics:

In Winthrop the day before, saturated fat and sugar-loading.

My friends are such tools.

Staying dry before the race, morning of.

Ditching the 2nd water bottle at the last second.

And the crowd goes wild!

White River’s only 19 miles longer, Patrick!